Diamond In The Rough
by Indifferently Different
Summary: Logan's learning the hard way that he shouldn't necessarily want everything money can buy. Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.  Slash. Logan/OC; Logan/Chase; eventual Chase/Logan.
1. Chapter 1

**"beautiful. dirty. rich."**

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**  


Logan realizes, rather belatedly, and in a vague, passive sort of manner, that he's always had this weird obsession with Chase.

At first, it isn't about Chase himself, he reasons. It's merely that Chase is associated with all the things that Logan lives for: competition, games and girls.

He and Chase compete for _everything. _Occasionally, Michael joins them, but the competition is always raised to fever-pitch between the other two. From food-eating contests to go-cart racing they battle, neither stopping until the other gives up. The games are the same: fighting, skill, RPGs and racing, besting each others' high scores just for the satisfaction of seeing the shocked face or to hear that sudden burst of swearing. And girls. Girls, girls, girls. Everyone knows who the real champion is when it comes to the opposite sex. Then again, Chase had dropped out of the race the unfortunate moment that Zoey had stumbled into their lives.

Then, Logan has his first sexual encounter with a _guy. _Yep. One of _those_ human beings. The ones that happen to be the same gender as him, coincidentally. You know, equipment, and all that. And good ol' Chase appears to Logan in a_ whole_ new light. Chorus of angels and everything. Logan sees with opened eyes. Whenever he actually _has_ time for Chase, that is.

Logan gets confused. He decides to think about it from the beginning. Where this whole mess really started.

**·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

The unexpected incident is a complete accident on Logan's half. After basketball practice one afternoon, he decides to delay himself to do a few drills in private [he and Chase have a slamdunk-a-thon coming up— last to twenty has to do the other's laundry for a month]. He's just finished showering off when he is slammed into a wall - he's more surprised than hurt, he remembers -, still dripping water and wearing nothing but a thin towel around his waist.

"_Ow_!" yells Logan, a pretty standard reaction for anyone shoved into (hard] concrete, caught completely off guard. Then he recognizes his attacker. "Dur_rell_! What the f-"

The rest of the sentence is muffled by lips of the assailant in question, Jason Durrell, the tall, muscular captain of the swim team, pressing the offending appendages to Logan's, and Logan is sure that if the rest of his body had been talking, it would have been cut off too.

Logan's first thought? WHOA.

Logan's next thought? ..._WHOA_.

When Jason stops ravaging his lips long enough for Logan to form a full sentence, he manages to grind out a, "What the hell do you think you're _doing_?" It unfortunately lacks most of the conviction it had possessed in his head in the few seconds before. He remembers that too- that Jason used to make him so uncoordinated.

Jason chuckles as he stares down at Logan with curious lust simmering in his brown eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Logan. What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Jason's hands travel slickly down the sides of Logan's dripping torso, and Logan is uh, pret-ty sure he wasn't tingling there a second ago, yeah. "And if you really _are_ that stupid, well…" His soft lips burn an amused smile against Logan's wet neck, meeting no resistance. "What does it _feel_ like I'm doing?"

Logan bites his lip, sub-consciously tilting his head to one side and giving Jason more access to his neck when suddenly, he realizes what he's doing. His eyes narrow. "It _feels_ like you're trying to rape me." He puts his hands on Jason's bare chest and pushes. "And I'm not interested, because _I'm not gay_."

And as he walks away, he makes a mental note to tell himself the same thing later when he's having serious sex withdrawals.

Then Durrell opens his big fat mouth and ruins everything:

"You can't rape the willing, Logan."

Logan freezes. His mind stops mid-whirl. Um. He can feel his mouth hanging open. _Um._ He turns slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief. He did _not_ just say that. "_Excuse me_?"

Jason is smirking and Logan has to remind his brain yet again that it isn't attracted to boys, and therefore, Jason Durrell smirking like that is not sexy in the least. Not. In. The least. Nope. Not at all. He sends Jason a ferocious glare.

"Don't play dumb, Logan- it really doesn't suit you. And I know you heard exactly what I said."

Logan, now understandably pissed, stalks toward Jason, one hand tightly securing his towel on his hips. He is standing so close to the cocky swim captain that he can see the golden flecks in the other's light brown eyes. He knows quite well [and with a rather questionable thrill of excitement] that he's invading personal space, tempting the shark with fresh bloody meat. "Do you know who I am, Durrell? I'm _Logan Reese_. And there is no way that I'm a fucking _faggot_. You wanna know why? It's cuz I love _girls_. And I'm never gonna _stop_ loving _girls_. Got that?"

And Jason still has that damn smirk on his damn face.

_What. The fuck._

"Okay, Logan. Sure. We'll play it your way." He steps back and walks past a stunned Logan to the door. As he pushes it open, he looks over his shoulder and waits for Logan to face him. As soon as Logan meets his gaze, he gives Logan's body a long, obvious, appreciative appraisal. It sends more of those unfamiliar tingles down Logan's spine. "It's a shame, really. I'd planned on getting some tonight. But I wouldn't worry too much about it." Jason grins. "You'll come to me when you're good and ready. And when I take you?" His brown eyes glimmer dangerously and his smirk widens. "You'll _beg_ for it."

Needless to say, our poor Logan is left cold, bewildered and _very_ confused about his apparently ambivalent sexuality.

But despite his angry denials, as the days and weeks go by, Logan finds himself more and more attracted to Jason. He notices the other boy's presence _everywhere_ now, and he wonders if Jason is doing it on purpose [manipulative _bitch_], or if he's just never seen him around [. . ._ manipulative bitch!_]. It isn't as if he isn't popular, Jason; he's always surrounded by swarms of people, both boys and girls, and Logan has to wonder if they all feel the same way he did. He has to admit, it's hard as hell not to.

Jason's also been playing a leading role in his dreams. It certainly isn't everyday that he's rescued from drowning in a pool by a smoking hot lifeguard [thank God- he might've died from sensory overload by now], and then given the Kiss Of Life to regain consciousness, among, um- other things. He's there; nearly_ every damn time_ Logan was closes his eyes. This has to mean _something_.

And goddamit, those fucking _eyes_. Jason always be _watch_in' him. Always. Stalker. And those brown eyes are luring him in just a little bit further every time. _Just say yes, Logan,_ they seem to murmur, twinkling with naughty promises. _All you have to do is say yes. _Got Logan mixing up his body parts and shit. Ew.

Why can't he make up his mind? Logan asks himself. Quite frequently, actually.

The answer is - obviously - _Fuck the fuck off_.

So why does he desperately want to say _Please, please, please- take me before I die from Jasonitis_?

**·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

Chase, on the other hand, begins to receive less and less of Logan's attentions. Except to eye him slyly whenever he gets the chance [which includes creating unnecessary reasons for entering the bathroom whenever Chase is showering], Logan has been throwing Chase aside again. And again. And again.

And unbeknownst to Logan, Chase is getting slowly and quietly upset, like a dormant volcano that has suddenly realized seventy years later that it was tricked during that game of Hide and Seek, and that, no, no one is ever coming to find it. Ever.

And so one pleasant Tuesday afternoon, Chase erupts.

"Dammit, Logan! What the hell is _wrong_ with you these days?"

Logan blinks, surprised and unusually lost as he's ripped [quite rudely, really] from his thoughts. "What? _What_ are you-? Nothing's _wrong_ with me."

Michael, who's sitting across the room with a book in his hand, scoffs angrily, turning a page and continuing his facade of reading, even as he says, "Yeah, right, Logan- don't try that crap."

"It's like you're a goddamn _zombie_!" Chase shouts, his fists clenched. Logan stares. "You don't do anything, and when you do, it's _just barely_ eating, _just barely_ sleeping or going to class! You hardly talk anymore, and you're _never. around_. And that 'ball shooting contest we were supposed to have the other day? You never even showed up."

Logan's shocked silence stretches on, and for the first time in his life, there are no sweet placating words on the tip of his tongue.

"Logan, what's going on?" Chase's voice breaks at the end of his question, and Logan can only continue to gape at him in surprise. "Logan," Chase whispers, roughly wiping a tear from his cheek, and ho-ly _shit_, a _tear_? "You're my best friend, and... and I'm scared and I feel like I'm losing you… and. Jesus. What went wrong?"

Michael sends a look of complete disappointment at Logan, swallows audibly, and leaves the room, and it takes a big-ass chunk of Logan's self-control to not go running out that door after him, because, shit. Michael never lets them see him cry.

Logan is more or less traumatized. He hasn't at all realized how much his new obsessi- fixation has affected the rest of his friends, and usually, yeah, he really doesn't care. But Michael just left him. And Chase... Chase is… _crying_.

Logan stands and walks over to where his best friend has collapsed, sitting on his heels, a hand clenched in his untamable hair as he continues his silent sadness. Logan kneels next to him and wraps his arms around Chase's body awkwardly, feeling extremely vulnerable and out of character.

"I'm so… I'm so sorry, Chase." The words feel so foreign on his tongue. "I didn't know that- God, please stop crying. I didn't- Stop crying, _please_ don't cry…"

And with firm resolve, Logan decides that he is _done_. That's it. He can't take this shit anymore. He's going to go to Jason tonight to finish this silly game once and for frigging all.

* * *

**A/N: Allo (:**

**Long time no type! Haha!**

**Wow. Kinda good to be back.**

**Would you believe I had this written BEFORE Touch Me, Taste Me?**

**Then again, TMTM had been a spur of the moment thing. THIS poor story has gone through so many changes, experimentations.**

**But it's here (:**

**I think I have a pretty firm view of how long I want this to be, and in what direction I want it to go,**

**and have a couple chapters written out. We'll see how it goes.**

**On the subject of Opposites Attract, no, I have not abandoned it. I've been stuck in a difficult spot for quite a while,**

**and I don't want to just upload a shitty chapter. I think I'm nearly there. **

**Give me your slashy thoughts ;)**

******Til next time, yeah?**

******xx**

******- I.D.**


	2. Chapter 2

**if you like what you see,**  
**end your curiosity.**  
**let your mind roam free-**  
**won't you pay attention please?**

**_what I gotta do to get you to want my body?_**

**·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

And with firm resolve, Logan decides that he is _done_. That's it. He can't take this shit anymore. He's going to go to Jason tonight to finish this silly game once and for frigging all.

**·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

Except Logan has no idea how to play it.

If only he'd known that back then.

Later that night, after obtaining Jason's room number from the secretary, Logan finds himself trudging up three flights of stairs in the Aqua Building. Either there's some sort of hidden elevator around this joint, or swimmers really like their exercise. Damn. He reads the tiny strip of paper again- Jason Durrell, Tom Andric, David Millard, Room 317, Third Floor, Aqua Building. He looks down at his watch. 8:52P.M, it blinks. Hmm. A bit late for a visit, but then again, Logan reminds himself with a slightly disbeliving shake of the head, this is no ordinary house call.

Forcing down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Logan strolls down the hallway. He checks the numbers on the doors as he passes them. 314. 315. 316.

317.

Music streams through the cracks around the door. Loud voices. Laughter. He takes a deep breath, shoves the paper into his pocket and knocks soundly. The voices stop suddenly. "Hey, turn that down a sec," someone says.

There are light footsteps and the door opens. David? David. David looks down at him in surprise, a slow grin spreading over his face. Uh oh. Logan knows that look. Logan _owns_ that look.

"Hey," David finally says. "It's Reese, right? _Logan_." He practically purrs the name. "What's up?"

Logan smiles his innocent, bashful smile, the one he usually reserves for the wives of his father's wealthy clients. Putty? Meet Logan's perfectly moisturised hands. "Hi, I was just wondering, um, is Jason in?"

"Yeah, I- yeah, sure! Come on in." David ushers Logan inside and shuts the door behind them, grabbing and throwing a pillow at Jason's head, which is bent over a computer screen. "Jay, dude, it's for you."

Logan stands, slightly awkward, in the middle of the room, taking in his surroundings quickly. Apparently, the dorms get bigger as the student gets older. The place is _huge_.

Jason spins around in the computer chair, his face lighting up as he spots Logan fiddling with his fingers. "Logan." He smiles and Logan nearly has a heart attack. "I was wondering when you were going to show up." He gestures to where David is sprawled over one of the couches, his eyes appraising Logan lazily. "Have a seat, I'll be right with you."

Logan ambles over to the other couch, the David-less one, and sits rigidly. He really does feel like he has an appointment in some doctor's office, trying to rid a harmful disease from his body. Hmm. Somehow, the idea is far from arousing.

David, on his couch, and Tom, who's lying reading on one of the queen beds, exchange loaded glances. David wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

When Jason disappears safely into the bathroom, Tom puts down his book and rises from his bed, adjusting his glasses on his nose and studying Logan. Logan squirms. He finds Tom's gaze extremely reminiscent to that of a scrutinizing teacher, and finds himself none other than the unfortunate student caught cheating. And he _never_ gets caught. How unfamiliar.

"Well, well." Tom's very British accent isn't helping Logan's imagination at all. Dirty minds. "What have we here, David?" David stands as well, his smooth movements distractingly fluid as he makes his way over.

"Looks to me like a very, _very_ tasty snack, Tommy boy."

Logan swallows dryly, his gaze flickering from one boy to the other in rational suspicion. Something's going down here. Tom sits next to him and David plops himself down on Logan's other side. "What the hell is going on?" asks Logan warily, trying to keep his eyes on both of them at the same time.

David laughs, and it's not very reassuring at all. Tom cups Logan's face in his hands, his smile slightly regretful. "Are you always this naïve, love?"

What?

And then Logan is kissed by a total stranger again, and he finds himself liking it _again_. God_dam_mit. And Tom's lips are soft and hard and too much and too little all at the same time, and Logan barely notices the slight dig of the Tom's lens frame on his nose bridge, and now someone's hot hands are moving up against trembling skin, trying to get his shirt off and now-

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, Tommy?"

Tom breaks away, his teeth scraping delightfully against Logan's lower lip; someone's hands are still up his shirt.

Logan is breathing hard, still trembling.

"Just having a bit of fun with your fresh meat. You know how I like to play with my food." He doesn't sound very apologetic, Logan manages to think, and Tom's eyes don't leave Logan's lips.

Jason is pissed off. Extremely. Logan can tell _that_ much. He's in Anger Management half his time anyway, remember? "Just get out. And take David with you. I really don't need you two getting in my way right now."

"Yeah yeah, we're going, we're going. Don't get your panties in a bunch…"

Logan vaguely hears the door close, lost in thoughts and feelings, but is very alert by the time Jason falls heavily beside him. He stares down at his knees in shame. God. He is such a _slut_; no wonder his friends are always saying it. He'd originally come actually _planning_ to fuck one guy and had ended up making out with said guy's best friend. Nice, Logan. _Real_ smooth. Then a hand lands on his shoulder.

"I'm not angry."

Logan scoffs. Yeah fucking right.

"Well, not at you, anyway. Why would I be?"

Logan frowns, starting to get angry himself. _What the hell is wrong with this guy? _"Because I made out with your _best friend_! In your _dorm_! And dude, your _other_ best friend had his hands all over me… How could you possibly not be angry?" Logan groans then, burying his face in his hands. "You must think I'm such a... a _whore_."

Of course he does. It's true, isn't it?

Logan jumps as Jason spreads his palms on Logan's back and begins to massage Logan through his shirt. "Relax. I won't hurt you. And no, actually. I don't think you're a whore."

Relax? What? Pain is the last thing on Logan's mind. He's busy trying to calm himself down as much as he can, but he can feel his muscles jumping under Jason's touch. His heart is doing that racing thing again. He struggles to remember Jason's last sentence. "I don't believe you."

And Logan isn't so sure that Jason is the only one he's talking to.

The older boy sighs, his hand kneading out the knots in Logan's neck. "Look, Logan. My friends and I, we're built to attract. It's sort of an experiment we've been working on."

_And I'm the test product_, Logan thinks bitterly.

"It's pretty hard to resist us, as you've learned the hard way…" Jason continues, oblivious to Logan's despair.

Logan sighs and lets his arms hang limply to each side, closing his eyes as Jason's fingers work on his temples, attempting to ignore the delightful shivers that are shooting down his spine relentlessly. "Explain," he demands. The other boy laughs, a gentle, rolling sound and Logan smiles, despite his state.

"All animals, they do something to attract mates, right? So our experimenting has to do with attracting other people. Not that you're part of the experiment… Well, you are, but…"

Surprise, surprise.

"You're sort of a hypothesis. I'll explain later. You see, Logan, it all has to do with the body," he begins. "Swimming is the only sport that works all the muscles in the body. It makes it long and lean, and, well, sexy. Do you agree?"

Sexy.

That has the word _sex_ in it.

Sex means _Jason_.

"Mmm," Logan replies all too eagerly, nodding for him to continue.

"Then comes the body care, which most people take for granted. The lotion, the shampoo, all that stuff. Skin, hair, smell…"

Logan turns his head to brush his nose against Jason's palm. The boy is driving him freakin' _crazy_. "Of course," he murmurs, inhaling deeply, dizzying himself. "The senses."

"Exactly. But then again, things like skin color, voices, beauty… That's all left to fate. Who your parents are. We're just lucky, I suppose."

Jason pulls his hands away reluctantly and Logan raises slowly into a sitting position, his gray eyes locking immediately onto Jason's brown. He licks his lips self-consciously and watches in fascination as Jason's eyes follow his tongue's wet trail avidly. Then Jason glances down as his thigh brushes against Logan's. The music is still playing quietly in the background and Logan recognizes the band.

"The Killers," he muses quietly, staring down at their touching legs.

"What?"

Logan looks up, embarassed, and points in the direction of the sound system, as he begins to stammer uncharacteristically. "Your music. The band, I mean. Its- uh, it's the Killers, right?"

Jason is observing him with a mixed expression of amusement and impression. "Yes," he whispers, centimeters from Logan's lips, "yes, you're right."

Logan hesitates, and then, taking a chance, brushes his lips against Jason's. The shock is so electric that he blinks several times before he realizes Jason is kissing him back. And that it feels _damn good_. It's soft and slow and sure, and when Jason isn't slamming people against walls, he's a really, _really_ good kisser.

"_They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet; you don't have to drink right now_," sings the stereo as Jason pulls Logan into his lap, "_But you can dip your feet… every once in a little while_…"

* * *

**A/N: Oh deary me. Logan- what are you doing?**

**::facepalm::**

**Hope you enjoyed that chapter (:**

**Thanks for the reviews and the faves/alerts!**

**Drop me a line, tell meh how you're feeling about this one.**

**xx**

**- I.D.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**::Edited; 5th May, 2011::**_

_Quick A/N: This chapter and the one following are Chase-centric. Enjoy. (:_

* * *

**so don't think that I'm pushing you away **  
**when you're the one that I've kept closest.**

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

"_They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet; you don't have to drink right now_," sings the stereo as Jason pulls Logan into his lap, "_But you can dip your feet… every once in a little while_…"

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

Something's not right.

The thought niggles uncomfortably at the edge of Chase's sub-consciousness until he wakes in a hazy daze. Chase frowns sleepily, turning over in bed as he hears the door creak open. He squints at the dark smudge near the doorway, his eyes blurring as they try to focus.

"Logan?" he croaks tiredly, his throat thick with sleep. "That you?"

Of course it is. Chase doesn't know why he's asking; Logan is the only one who comes home as late as – he squints at the alarm clock – 2:36 a.m., and there's obviously only one thing _he_ could've been doing. Or maybe he was _doing_ more than one, now that Chase's mind is on that track. He wouldn't put it past the man-whore.

"Yeah," comes Logan's quiet reply from somewhere in the darkness, "Just me." There are a few steps toward the bed, and then Logan's face appears in the glow from the alarm clock. _He must be pretty close for that light to reflect on his face, _Chase thinks foggily, but then Logan whispers, _Go back to sleep, Chase_, and Chase is far too relieved to do anything but comply.

In the morning, Chase can't remember whether or not the warm fingers on his face were a dream, a simple figment of his wild and ridiculously overactive imagination.

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

"So?" Michael prompts the next morning at breakfast, wiggling his eyebrows comically as Logan slides onto the bench with his food. Chase grins despite himself, then tries to hide it by taking a gulp of water. Michael doesn't waste a second.

Logan raises an amused eyebrow, stabbing a pancake and slicing it in half. "So?"

Michael rolls his eyes, nearly painting his uniform shirt with sticky syrup as he leans across the table, a mischievous gleam to his dark eyes. "How'd it go? You know, with…" he trails off, widening his eyes and tilting his head meaningfully. "You back in the groove?"

Logan does something with his face, his face contorting as he chews and swallows down a disgusting mixture of pancake, chocolate syrup and tomato ketchup, and then Chase realises that he's smirking. Or trying to, anyway. "Ake von jesh," Logan slurs, dripping chocolate and ketchup, and Michael and Chase just stare until the boy swallows down the concoction – Chase shudders – and tries again. "I said, Take one guess."

"I give up," Michael grumbles immediately, slumping back into his chair and beginning to push his food around his plate. "Your guesses suck."

"Aw, c'mon," Logan says with a slight scowl, that spot between his thin eyebrows gaining an extra crease. "They do _not_."

"They do _too_," Chase throws in petulantly, tired of being ignored, and Logan looks at him, but not _at _him. "You always say, "Take one guess," and then that's all we have to do, because it's always the first one!"

"Too predictable," Michael adds unnecessarily, but Chase nods nonetheless. He's right.

"Fine," Logan snaps, annoyed. "I got laid. She was easy, okay?"

"Or were you?" Michael mutters, coughing suspiciously, and when Chase starts to snicker along with him, Logan's eyes narrow. Suddenly, he's pushed away from the bench, and he's snatching up his tray and storming away, and the laughter quickly crackles away as the two gape after Logan in silent shock.

"What the hell," Chase murmurs quietly, taken aback. He exchanges a bewildered look with Michael and then glances after Logan in confusion. Logan doesn't come back. The rest of the brief meal is distinctly gloomy.

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

Logan doesn't talk to them for the next couple of days, and Chase doesn't push him to. They've only just gotten him to talk to them again, after God knows how long. And honestly? Yeah, he's worried – but desperate enough to keep Logan around that he won't directly question his behavior. Sometimes people just need their space, and Logan has always been surprisingly considerate of that. No reason why the courtesy shouldn't go both ways.

Chase wonders, though, what could've set Logan off like that in the first place. He genuinely cares for the other boy, despite the unavoidable grinding that goes on between them, the close-but-no-not-quite fit. It worries him; Logan, who is usually so unflappable, taking [an admittedly pretty weak] insult to heart like that. He has some serious anger issues, yeah, but it usually takes more than that to set him off.

Maybe it was because they hadn't been talking for a while; he had to adjust to them again, get used to being teased. Maybe he should talk to Michael about cutting down on the smart remarks for a couple weeks.

Or maybe it wasn't the insult itself? Maybe it had triggered something else –

The sound of the door clicking closed snaps him out of his concerned reverie, and startled, he blurts out the one thing on his mind as he whirls around. "Logan!"

"Um," comes the half-amused half-irked reply from the person in front of him, "not quite."

Chase instantly flushes from his ears to his chest – yes, it's quite possible – and an awkward cough, tries again. " Zo. I… wasn't expecting you."

Zoey rolls her eyes and walks over, plopping herself down on the bed beside him. "I think that was a little obvious, Chase."

He laughs a little, his neck still burning pointedly, and Zoey continues. "Have you talked to him though? Logan?"

Chase's mirth quickly disperses as worry again crawls up to the forefront of his mind. "No," he says, shaking his head. "Well, yeah, a couple times. But he doesn't really reply, at least not when _I _try talking to him. It's sort of like before. The times I've seen him outside of the room, he acts like he doesn't know me." Chase rolls his own eyes. "Never knew he could hold a grudge."

But the hurt is poorly concealed in his tone – he's a bad liar, and he knows it; moments later, Zoey's hand is on his arm, a light, soothing comfort. "Don't worry about it. He'll come round again."

Chase smiles wryly. "I know. He gets over stuff almost as fast as he gets angry." But that was why Chase just _couldn't understand_ why Logan was acting so weird about _this_. They were going so well, their friendship almost back to normal after that month of horror. But a stupid little joke, and he doesn't speak to his friends for days? He'll eventually calm down, Chase reasons, he's got to,but the fact that he's been mad for so long in the first place is enough cause for concern. Chase has a bad feeling that they're having relapses.

Is it him? Him, Chase? Logan had been acting strange for some time before, not extravagantly so, but with odd little actions that had Chase blinking twice then and remembering again suddenly when yet another unusual gesture struck him. But only since Logan'd been back to, well, as close to "normal" as they could call it. Chase hasn't talked to Michael about it, thinking that maybe, with them just getting back together after that mess, only a couple weeks or so in, to be real, he's just getting used to Logan again – and Logan takes some getting used to, _that's_ for sure.

But maybe Logan _wanted _Chase to notice. Maybe he'd been weird around Chase because he didn't like him anymore, didn't want to be his friend. Maybe he'd finally realised over summer what a loser Chase actually was, and that he was wasting his time being friends with him. That manly little emotion explosion that Chase had had, the event that seemed to have turned around everything, was probably the only thing keeping Logan around. As soon as the occurrence had faded from the fore of everyone's minds, Logan would do it. He would disassociate himself from Chase first, who he was closest to, and then pull himself away from the others as soon after as he could.

Zoey quickly picks up on his anxiety, on his imagination running unchained and wild, and she doesn't waste a second trying to get Chase to unguilt. "Stop it, Chase Matthews. Stop it right now. I can just see the gears turning in your big, fat curly head. Stop trying to blame yourself for something you just made up on the spot. Unguilt!"

Chase forces another smile at the familiar word, but doesn't deny his scapegoat tendencies, and Zoey lets out a sigh. Her following sentences were slow, soft and comforting. "Chase, c'mon. He's just having another one of his bitch fits. That what comes with having rich friends. He came around last time didn't he? You can just calm right down. Everything's fine. _Logan's_ fine. If something was really up, I'm sure he'd tell you, now, anyway. You, of all people."

Poor unsuspecting Zoey had never been more wrong.

* * *

**A/N: How cryptic. Thanks alll for the reviews, alerts and faves. You lot are fantastic! (: If I have not responded to your review, please let me know when (if?) you review this chapter, and I shall hop to it with gusto.**

**xx, - I.D.**


	4. Chapter 4

_ATTENTION! Last chapter [3] was edited significantly on May 5th. Author would suggest a read-over of that before jumping into this one. Otherwise, this continues Chase-centric. Enjoy. (: _

* * *

**this is an emergency.**

**so are you listening?**

**and i _can't_ pretend that i don't see this.**

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

"Chase, c'mon. He's just having another one of his bitch fits. That what comes with having rich friends. He came around last time didn't he? You can just calm right down. Everything's fine. Logan's fine. If something was really up, I'm sure he'd tell you, now, anyway. You, of all people."

Poor unsuspecting Zoey had never been more wrong.

_******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**  
_

A few days later, Logan starts talking to them again.

It's weird, though, that the uncomfortable feeling in the back of Chase's head doesn't go away.

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

He's in the shower in the private bathroom that Logan's dad paid for – fingers scrubbing determinedly through thick hair beneath the hot spray, diluted shampoo running down his chest – when he hears the door open.

He doesn't open his eyes when the door closes [he's learned the hard way that Logan's expensive shit _burns_], and pretty soon after, his hair is as rinsed as it's going to be and he's climbing out of the shower.

At least fifteen seconds pass before Chase notices that someone else is still in the room.

"Logan!" he screeches in a very womanly manner, abandoning the towel on his sopping head and clutching at his manly bits, because _whoa_. "Jesus Christ! Give a guy some privacy, huh!"

Logan's mouth opens and closes, dripping toothpaste, his eyes glued firmly to Chase's body, and Chase can feel himself flushing at the attention, his entire being reddening with embarrassment and anxiety.

But Logan doesn't move, and when Chase lets out an exasperated sound, Logan seems to finally snap out of it, promptly following Chase's suit and going red. His eyes widen and he spins, spitting the remaining toothpaste into the sink and sprinting from the tiny room, dirty toothbrush still in hand.

Chase, perplexed, stares through the open door at Logan's figure, whirling through the dorm room and around the corner of the doorway. _What the hell was that?_

_******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**  
_

"Nah," Chase says, sometime in the next few days when someone suggests pizza. And then his eyes light up. "Let's get ice-cream."

He gets the cone with vanilla like he always does, slathering it in chocolate syrup. Nothing else really compares. And when he's really getting into it, making his weird little Chase Noises as his whole frame vibrates with happy ions, Logan drops his white chocolate-macadamia on Lola's colorful skirt.

The girls let out their expected girl-like shrieks. Logan takes one stricken look at Chase's surprised face and makes a run for it.

Logan doesn't come back five minutes later like he usually does, with that unapologetic grin on his face and enough money to buy three new skirts.

He doesn't come back at all, actually.

Chase's ice-cream loses its flavour.

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

Logan's behavior is so erratic that it's driving Chase crazy.

One week he's perfectly fine. Everything's fine. They laugh and they chill and he goes to classes and he whines about everyone and preens himself like a peacock.

And then just when Chase thinks it might be okay, that he's got his best friend back, the dude disappears again. Not just literally, but metaphorically. _Logan _disappears from Logan. He starts acting jumpy and nervous, gets flustered like crazy. He loses his spark, loses his bite, starts looking like shit. He s_tammers._

But as soon as Chase gets the courage to look into it, Normal Logan's back again, and everything is cool. He's just _back_. Like he was never gone in the first place. Dammit.

******·◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊×◊·**

And angry doesn't even come close to describing how pissed Chase is as he storms down the hallway in the Aqua Building.

He's finally figured out the reasons for Logan's bipolar-like manner, thanks to Quinn and one of her more useful inventions. Knowing that Logan is crushing on that stupid swim captain has explained so much. No, really.

Chase had been obviously and undoubtedly surprised to find out Logan's dirty little secret, and even now, marvels at his own obliviousness.

Really, though! Those nights on end when Logan disappears with no indication of where he ever goes, coming back exhausted, suspiciously bruised, only to be normal for a few days and then vanish yet again. The sleeplessness, the lack of appetite, the way his eyes tended to glaze over, the daydreaming, the not-so-discrete eyeing of Chase whenever he steps out of the shower...

And Chase has been so guiltily pleased at that last one.

Huh.

But now, he reminds himself, is not the time for sudden epiphanies of, uh, self-and-other-discovery.

Chase arrives at the door - 317? Yeah. - and raps loudly, before stepping back, bouncing on anxious heels.

Some time passes.

Chase frowns a little, presses his ear to the door for a second, and then knocks again.

More time passes.

Chase snarls and bangs on the door, and it finally swings open to reveal a shirtless Tom Millard- Chase's old dorm representative.

His glasses dangle from his right hand and his normally bright green eyes are already past forest green, almost blending with the black of his startlingly dilated pupils, alerting Chase instantly that something's not right.

"Why, hello, Matthews," he says, breathlessly surprised, ever polite even as he appears higher than a kite. "What is it?"

Chase quickly snaps his eyes away from Tom's toned mid-section to reply, his face burning, strangely flustered. "Uh. Um." Chase blinks a few times, and then shakes his shaggy head. Right. "Cut the crap, Millard. Where the hell is my friend?"

"Your "friend"?" Tom's eyebrow rises. Then comprehension dawns on his face, and his innocent cluelessness grows quickly into cruel amusement. "You can't mean _Logan_? Oh, how pathetically a_dor_able." He leans forward with a gleeful grin. "Wee Chasey fancies his bestest mate."

Chase stumbles like he's been slapped, gapes, takes the bait like a sucker. "_What_? I am so serious when I say I have no idea what you're talking about."

But this only seems to increase Tom's amusement, and baby, he's on a roll. "In denial, too?" he queries, straightening up with a light disbelieving scoff, and then he's shaking his head in mock despair. "Or could it be, Matthews, that you _still _don't know! My my. We _are_ a mess."

A mess? Chase's eyes narrow. "Speak for yourself, _Tommy_," he spits, and Tom almost looks impressed. "I know exactly what I am and what I'm doing. Being a mess like you has been the_ last_ thing on my list of priorities for a long time."

Tom moves so fast, Chase barely sees him. In a sudden blur of motion, he's in the room, then flying backwards again as his unsuspecting body is used to slam the door shut.

The wind flies out of him in a rush, leaving him dizzy and disoriented with Tom pressing him into the solid barrier, a foreign leg between his own.

"You cheeky little _bugger_." Tom chortles softly into Chase's ear, and his gentle tone is distractedly contradictory to the hand that's grabbing onto Chase's curls, jerking his head back roughly. "You really haven't changed at all. You think you know who you are? _What_ you are? Well, by the time I'm finished with you, love, I'm sure you'll have no doubts."

For a moment, Chase is frightened, God, _terrified_, and he cries out, beginning to struggle as Tom pulls his head back further. "Let me go, you creep!"

Tom just laughs that deceptively soft laugh again, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides. "You'll remember to keep your mouth shut the next time, sweetheart."

Chase continues to squirm uselessly against Tom's vice-grip, fear clouding his judgment, his coordination. But as he feels the older boy pressing as close as he possibly can, Tom's bare skin scorching with drugged arousal against his, and a sudden hot,_ wet_ mouth on his neck, Chase's knees go weak with an involuntary gasp, his thoughts speeding promptly southward.

Chase rests his head on Tom's bare shoulder as the older boy ravages his neck, helpless hands grasping uselessly for grip that isn't there, eyes slowly drifting half-shut.

In the room behind his abuser, they're bodies. Nah, not like dead bodies, but very alive, very _vocal _bodies. And a good couple of them as well. In the middle of it all, there's an armchair. A tall boy is sitting in it, sprawling, really, but all Chase can see are his long jean-clad legs- his upper body is blocked by the naked, tanned back of the smaller boy straddling his lap. Through his hazy gaze, Chase finds the back only vaguely familiar, recognition stirring but failing to click as Tom suddenly distracts him.

Chase lets out a startled cry as the older boy bites into his the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking on the hammering pulse, sending unfamiliar, stomach-twisting shudders through his shaking body. Then, as Tom licks away the pain with his tremendously talented tongue, Chase stifles the tiny pleasured whimper that tries desperately to escape his throat. Guilt swirls up inside him, clawing at his innards, and the feeling of self-loathing that covers him is almost suffocating.

God. What has he done?

When he's clenched them shut long enough to dispel the burn of his threatening tears, Chase opens his eyes again. He spies a pair of long, similarly tanned arms, circling round to caress that tanned back, and Chase starts as the image jolts his memory.

That's... that's _Logan's_ back. Logan's. He's seen that very sight countless times, whenever he "accidently" happens to walk in on Logan and whichever girl he happens to be banging, her arms clinging helplessly to his bronzed skin as he pounds her into the - Chase's - mattress.

That's Logan's back, no doubt about it- but that's no girl.

That's Logan's back, and Chase, complete comprehension finally swirling through his dizzy brain, falling backwards as Tom dumps him outside the door with smug triumph… Chase will be back to save him.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not even going to bother with the gushing apology. You're right. I suck. Hope it was good. ********Thanks for the feedback. ****Review. (: **

**xx, - I.D.**


End file.
